


Longing of the Heart

by angededesespoir



Series: McReyes/McReaper Week [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Brief Alcohol Mention, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, Smoking, flower symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 09:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10434189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angededesespoir/pseuds/angededesespoir
Summary: In which a gift is given, things are lost, and things are regained.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5- Bloom
> 
> [Some Cactus Flower Symbolism.](http://www.flowermeaning.com/cactus-flower-meaning/)
> 
> (Also on [Tumblr](http://angededesespoir.tumblr.com/post/158802831705/longing-of-the-heart).)

He shoves the potted cacti into McCree’s hands.  “I was getting the flowers for Ana’s birthday and I saw this. It reminded me of you.  Take good care of it.”   


Jesse holds the pot in his hands, firmly, but not so much that it will break.  He looks down in confusion and then flicks his eyes up to meet Gabe’s.

“I’ve never taken care of a plant before, boss.”  


“You’ll figure it out.  You always do.”  A hand squeezes his shoulder and quickly falls away.  


“I need to help set up for the party.  Put that where there’s plenty of light.  See you later, McCree.”  


Jesse watches him leave, as quickly as he came.  The memory of his touch lingers long after.

\--

Gabe does not mention the reasons why he thought of Jesse when he saw the plant.  How the prickly nature reminded him of the beginning years- the lashing out and the isolation.  How the plant was durable, could withstand the harshness of the world with little care being given to it.  How blossoms could flourish despite adversity.

He does not admit that the gift is a confession and a connection.  That this man had planted the seeds to something beautiful and powerful in the desert of his heart.

He hopes Jesse will understand what he cannot say.

\--

Gabriel steps out onto the terrace, cigarette already in hand.  He’s greeted by the sight of McCree busy watering his plant.

The agent turns when he hears footfalls and tips his hat when he sees Reyes. 

“Hey, there, Jefe!  This here plant is comin’ along.  It’s even sproutin’ some buds!”  


The man’s face beams with pride and excitement.  Gabe tries to ignore how his heart flutters.  

He allows himself to smile as he approaches, taking in Jesse’s work.  The plant was indeed thriving.

“You’re doing good, agent,” he replies.  


He takes a drag of his cigarette and hands it to McCree.  Their hands brush as the young man eagerly makes a grab for it.

They fall into their usual routine, passing the cig between them, Jesse telling him a story.

His eyes keep falling to the man’s lips, watching the way they part.

He forces himself to avert his eyes, shifts his attention back to the story.

McCree’s hand rests side by side with his commander’s on the railing.  If he were half as brave as he were on the battlefield, he would move his hand just a few centimetres to right and the weight of his palm would be atop the back of Gabe’s hand.

Instead, he passes the cigarette back, wisps of smoke escaping his lips to mingle with Reyes’ exhaled breath.

He hopes Gabe will make a move soon.

\--

He curses himself for allowing hope to bubble up again. All good things must come to an end. Fate is cruel that way.

Before he leaves, he sets the cacti on Reyes’ desk, places a note by the side of the cracked pot.

\--

_“I know you’ll take care of this like you took care of me.”_  


He reads the note over and over, clutching it so hard between his fingers that it leaves creases in the yellow parchment.

After awhile he can no longer bear it.  He lets the note fall to his desk as he unlocks his drawer, pulls out the bottle inside.

He looks down at the plant until the image blurs.

The flowers bloom red and large.....but he still can’t help but feel that he failed.

\--

When the explosion hits, it decimates the office.

Beneath the rubble, the plant lays.  

It survives for awhile and then, like everything else, withers away- forgotten...by almost all.

\--

He clutches the pot between clawed fingers, setting it down in the windowsill.  

It’s similar to the old one, but has not yet bloomed.

The water soaks into the soil and Sombra raises her eyebrow at the scene.

“What’s that for?  Never took you for the gardening type.”  


He can detect the unspoken words.   _Everything you touch dies._

His hands turn to fists, smoke curling from his body.

“None of your concern.”  


He allows his legs to lose form and wraiths out.

She lets him go and does not ask again.

\--

In the end, she doesn’t need to ask.  She does what she has always done best. 

And when she approaches the counter and takes in the sight of the cowboy- she knows.

\--

Sometimes Widowmaker will catch him sitting by the cacti, hazy light through the window falling on his shuddering form.

He moans in pain, his body falling apart and coming back together. 

It brings to mind flickers of a past life, fragmented memory she has learned to suppress.  

For a moment, she feels something.  For a moment, she feels the urge to comfort him.  For a moment she stays.....

then he is left alone again, bright red petals haunting him.

\--

They’ve faced eachother before.  He does not know how Jesse found him, how he got inside, but he’s here now, towering over him, putting the pieces together.

“...Reyes?”  


He claws at the ground, suppressing a groan as his body tries and fails to reform.

“Gabe?”  


He does not answer.

He’s too consumed by pain to register the movement, but he feels the sensation of a hand at the edge of his mask.

His hand snaps up, clutching the wrist.

“ **Don’t** ,” he hisses.  


He squeezes harder then suddenly drops his arm, catching himself before he face-plants.

There’s a pressure on his chest and shoulders, and for a second the touch has him slipping.  He manages to reaffirm his concentration before the hands can slip through him.  

“What can I do?”  


“Nothing.”  


Half of him feels the urge to protest when the man moves, arms curling around him and pulling him into what passes as an embrace.  But doing that would mean losing the progress he’s made.  

And besides, if he’s being honest, the contact wasn’t half bad.  Even if he couldn’t register it like he used to and even if he had to resist the urge to let the tendrils seek out another meal.

“There's gotta be somethin'. Maybe-”  


“No.  I’ll be fine.”  McCree winces as the claws dig into his back.  “This is normal.”  


“Gabe, this ain’t normal.”  


He hates how much he’s wanted to hear this voice, how much he’s wanted him to be just as concerned about him as he used to be.  

He desperately wants to push him away and flee from all the feelings and memories that have been eating at him and holding him back for years.

Instead, he clutches to him like a lifeline, shuddering as another wave of pain hits.

There’s silence and the urge to speak.  Jesse has too many questions; Gabe has too few answers.

Somewhere, somehow, McCree finds the courage he did not have years ago.

“Do ya trust me?”

There’s a few painful seconds, then, “Did you need to ask?”

“Then I’m going to help you.  But you need to tell me what happened.”

“What’s there to tell? I lost everything.”

McCree tightens his grip.  “You didn’t lose me.”

He doesn’t know how to respond. It’s been so long since anything has gone right for him and this feels too good to be true.  

_His rational mind screams at him._

“I’m right here.”  Eyes flicker to blooming cacti and back at him.  A hint of a smile on a weathered face.  “Always have been.”  

_His heart cries louder._

He gives in.


End file.
